Family Man
by BlackBird47
Summary: Five years in the future, Michael Westen is a reinstated CIA operative, married to Fi, and now, a father. So why does it still feel like something's missing?
1. Chapter 1

Family Man

Chapter One

_Langley, Virginia_

_2016_

It didn't really matter if he was leading an attack on a covert terrorist group or just trying not to wake up his wife and daughter—Michael Westen was one of the CIA's best assets when it came to breaching a perimeter without detection.

He shed his heavy coat and briefcase in the entryway, slipping out of his shoes so he could make his way up the staircase quietly. Michael let out a long breath, wearily ascending the staircase and thinking for the millionth time that this house was too damn big for just three people. He had grown up in a small one-story house and spent six years living comfortably in a shitty loft, so it still felt very strange to come home to a gated community.

But with his newly reinstated job with the government came a pay increase so steep that Michael had choked on his spoonful of yogurt the first time he checked his newly unfrozen bank account. He had felt bad enough about moving his pregnant wife to Virginia in the middle of a freezing cold winter, so he might have overcompensated a little by getting them a really nice—and roomy— place.

"Daddy?"

Michael jumped slightly, turning towards his daughter Maddy's bedroom to see her standing there in her pajamas, trailing her stuffed Elmo behind her. Michael shook his head. What would his CIA bosses think? He had just been made by a four year old.

"Hey, sweetheart." Michael crossed to her, bending down to her eye level. "Sorry I woke you up. I was trying to be real quiet."

She shrugged. "S'okay."

"Is your mom asleep?"

Maddy nodded, an oddly thoughtful and mature expression on her young features. "She sleeps a lot when you're gone, daddy."

Michael's brow furrowed slightly with concern. "What do you mean? Is she sick?"

"I dunno." Maddy yawned hugely. "Now that you're home, can we move your mission tracker?"

Michael smiled. "Sure."

Maddy led the way back into her jungle-themed bedroom, taking her father's hand and leading him over to the painted map of the world that took up one whole wall of her room.

"Do you remember where I was this time?" Michael asked, lifting her up into his arms.

"You were in Shanghai. The capitol of the People's Republic of China." Maddy said, reaching out for the push-pin she and her father used to mark where he was in the world he went away on missions.

Michael smiled proudly. "You and mom have been reading about China, huh?"

"Yeah." Maddy pulled out the pin, Michael carrying her back over to the map of North America so she could stick the pin back into the well-worn hole in the wall that marked their home in Virginia. "I'm glad you're home, dad."

"Me too, sweetheart." Michael gently set her back down on her bed, kissing the top of her head. "Now, it's late. Try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay." Maddy climbed under her purple zebra print comforter, looking up at him with the incisively bright blue-green eyes that were so much like her mother's. "Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"How long will you be home this time?"

Michael's heart twisted slightly. She sounded so resigned to the fact that her father would always come home only to be preparing for his next trip. But he didn't know what else to do—the CIA had finally taken him back, and he couldn't lose this job and still be able to provide for his family.

"I have another job coming up, Maddy. I'm sorry."

"How long?" she persisted.

"I leave in a week."

Maddy turned on her side, closing her eyes and snuggling under her covers. "I thought so."

Michael wanted to say more, wanted to apologize for being gone so much, but he wasn't quite sure what to say. He just stood there, overwhelmed with the now-familiar sinking feeling that he was way too emotionally stunted to ever be a good father, watching over Maddy until his daughter fell asleep. Or at least pretended to.

When Michael entered the master bedroom, the TV was on, but when he turned towards the dresser to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt, the TV was suddenly switched off.

"Home at last." Her voice was raspy from sleep.

Michael turned back towards the bed with a small smile, still unbuttoning his shirt. "Hey, Fi."

Fiona ran a hand through her long dark hair, sitting up in bed. Michael noticed with a shiver of arousal she was wearing nothing but one of his old Army t-shirts. Before they'd gotten married and become parents, Fiona usually slept in nothing at all. And while Michael definitely didn't have a problem with that, he personally thought she looked ridiculously sexy like this too, but he knew she would never believe him.

"How was Shanghai?" she asked, taking a sip of water from the cup she kept on her bedside table.

"Exhausting." Michael shed his shirt and pants, gratefully climbing under the covers beside her in his boxers and socks. He turned on his side to look at her. "How have things been here?"

Fiona opened her mouth to say "fine," but was surprised when the lie died on her lips. Suddenly she couldn't look at him, falling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling instead.

"Fi?" Michael prodded.

"Do you remember what it used to be like when you got back from missions? In the beginning, in Belfast?" Fiona licked her lips thoughtfully. "We couldn't get enough of each other. Sometimes we didn't even make it out of the airport parking lot. And now, what? We exchange pleasantries and go to sleep?"

"I was much younger then, Fi." Michael said, making an admittedly weak stab at humor.

"What does that have to do with anything? Do you even want to fuck me anymore?" Fiona glared at him.

"Fiona, what the hell are you talking—"

"I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Michael." She fell on her back against the pillows.

"Cut out for what?"

"Waiting. For you. Forever." Fiona snapped, turning to look at him. "I feel like I've spent my entire adult life waiting for you. And when I see Maddy doing the same thing, it makes me so angry at you that I can't even…" Fiona took in a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "Michael, I don't care what you do to me. I can take it. God knows I'm used to it. But I can't watch you do this to her."

"You act like I have a choice." Michael sighed.

"You _do_ have a choice!"

"Oh, really, Fi? And what choice is that? Quit my job? Lose our house? Start Maddy a college fund with money we make from odd jobs in Miami?" Michael's voice came out harsher than he intended.

"It's not about the money. I don't care about money." Fiona spat. "I never wanted to have to say this, but I have enough money stored in safe houses around the world for my daughter to never want for anything." She took a deep breath, really expending effort to control her temper. "I supported you taking this job and uprooting our entire life because I knew it was what you wanted, and because I knew you needed some time away from Miami after your mother died." She reached out, her hand over his. "But now that we're here…I feel like I've lost you. Like we all have. You and I are practically strangers. You barely know your own daughter. You hardly even talk to Sam and Jesse anymore because you're so busy working."

Michael groaned with frustration. "I am so tired of all of you crucifying me for having a job! I'm sorry I can't bust open a safe buried in the Mohave desert somewhere and be set for life like you! I'm sorry I can't live off my wife's money and still respect myself like Sam! I serve my country because that's who I am, Fi—"

"No, Michael. That's what you _do_. That's not who you are." Fiona took his face in her hands, looking right at him, a fire in her eyes he hadn't seen in years. Even her Irish accent crept back into her speech as it always did when she was really impassioned about something. "I know who you are. I know every part of you. And the Michael I know is so much more than just some nameless drone in a suit blindly following orders. The Michael I know helps people that can't help themselves. He puts his life on the line for his friends without a second thought. He's the best man I've ever known."

"Fi—" Michael shook his head, clearly touched but also clearly uncomfortable with someone saying so many nice things about him.

But Fiona cut him off with her hand over his mouth, needing him to listen. "But every day you work for these soulless cretins who stole your life away just because they felt like it, I see that Michael, the real Michael, dying in front of my eyes. And I love you too much to just stand by and watch any longer." Fi dropped her hand from his mouth, looking at him so intently it made Michael heart speed up with adrenaline and anticipation. He knew that particular expression well, but hadn't seen it in far too long.

Michael leaned forward and kissed her, Fiona's anger cooling as she eventually relaxed into the embrace when Michael wrapped his arms around her. They broke apart after a long moment, Fiona's moment of candor making them both feel a little more like themselves. Michael brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear as he looked down at her. "I'm so sorry, Fi. I had no idea you felt like this."

Fiona shrugged. "How would you know? We never see each other."

Michael sighed, pausing to think for a moment. "Well, I have a job coming up in Monaco. It'd be nice to have some company."

"You and me in the Riviera?" Fiona raised her eyebrows, a small smile playing on her lips.

"What do you think? Sam could take Maddy while we were gone. He's been telling me all year that his family wants to come up and see Maddy, maybe take the kids to Washington."

"A real vacation," Fiona considered this. "We could even think of it like the honeymoon we never had."

"Whatever you want. I'll just have a few boring business meetings, and one easy reconnaissance, and then I'll be all yours. We can figure all of this out. Decide what to do next, together."

"What kind of reconnaissance?" Fiona apparently hadn't heard anything after that word.

"That's what you want to do on our vacation? Provide tactical support?" Michael grinned, his hand gently stroking Fiona's back as she rested her chin on his chest to look up at him.

"Michael, I've been absolutely dying to do a job. Any job. Just because we have Maddy doesn't mean we have to give up that part of our relationship completely, right?"

"Of course it doesn't. Or at least, I don't think so," Michael said. "I trust you more than anyone in the world, Fi. There's no one I'd rather have backing me up."

Fiona pushed herself up slightly, kissing him, pleased when Michael's hand tangled in her hair as he initiated the kiss growing deeper and open-mouthed. When they parted for breath, he practically threw her onto her back on the mattress, tugging the t-shirt she was wearing over her head with his usual efficiency. Michael had always been like this—one moment, it seemed like sex was the last thing on his mind, but then something— Fiona unfortunately could never quite figure out what exactly— flipped his internal switch, and he could go all night.

And while Fiona begrudgingly forced herself to acknowledge they were both either too old or too tired to pull an all-night shag session like they'd done (often) during their initial relationship in their twenties, they still managed quite the explosive reunion. Michael fell asleep immediately after, his arm slung carelessly over her stomach as Fiona stared up at the ceiling, her chest still rising and falling rapidly from the rush of an orgasm. She had almost convinced herself she didn't miss all of this—sex, falling asleep beside him, waking up and seeing him there— all that much while he was gone, but that lie was shot to hell now. Of course she did.

But trying not to miss him—and the way he made her feel—was nothing new for Fiona. The first time they'd slept together, she knew immediately afterwards, looking up at the crappy hotel room ceiling, that it was one of those nights she'd always remember as one of the best of her life.

She could never really sort out all the reasons why sex was so much better with Michael than it had ever been with anyone else, and she didn't really care. It just was. And even though she knew time had passed and everything was different now from their first night together in Belfast, sometimes it felt like nothing had really changed. Like no matter where they went or what they did or what pain they caused each other, they'd always find their way back home. Like some things never changed.

_Belfast, Ireland_

_1999_

_ Michael Westen flipped through the newspaper someone had left behind at the bus station bench, trying to force himself not to check his watch again. Finally, just when he was about to give up, the phone rang._

_ He looked around furtively. No suspicious cars parked, no good surveillance perches, no tails. He was here alone. She really had picked a good place for them to talk, even though it had been a bitch to find. He hurried to his feet, embarrassed to feel a little high school rush of excitement at the idea of talking to her again. _

_ Michael picked up the phone, speaking in the Irish accent that was finally becoming comfortable after a month of living as Michael McBride. "I think you've got the wrong number."_

_ "You're finding your way around town quickly, McBride," Fiona said. "Tonight. The Taphouse. Nine o'clock."_

_ "It's a date." Michael said, instantly feeling like an idiot._

_ "It's a hand-off." Fiona corrected him, but it sounded like she was smiling. "But you're still buying me a drink." She hung up before Michael could say anything else, and he let out a long breath, leaning his forehead against the glass wall of the telephone booth._

_ This was bad. This was very bad. He was undercover with the IRA to take down a particularly extremist faction of their organization, and things had been going well until he met one of the IRA's most formidable explosives experts, Fiona Glenanne. From the moment they met, the chemistry between them had been instant. It had been two weeks of working together, and neither of them had acted on anything yet. It was becoming almost unbearable for Michael to be around her without pulling her into a back room to work out their tension. He was cautiously hopeful that she was feeling something between them too, but she was a very hard person to read. She always seemed happy to see him, and all of their conversations inevitably became laden with innuendo, but Michael didn't know enough about her to know whether or not that was just the way she talked to everyone._

_ Thinking about Fiona was proving much more interesting than doing his job for the CIA, and for the first time in his life, Michael knew he was prioritizing a personal relationship over duty to his country. And not only that, but a relationship with a very dangerous criminal whose record was roughly the size of a phone book. _

_ But it was the strangest thing. He knew all the reasons it was a terrible idea, and he just didn't care. Before Fiona, Michael had never understood why so many of his friends did such stupid things for girls—usually in pursuit of sleeping with them. He used to think maybe he just wasn't that sexual of a person. He'd had girlfriends in high school, and lost his virginity at a party sophomore year to a cheerleader that he'd dated for a few months after. The first few times they'd had sex, it had mostly just been awkward and over very quickly, but then one night in her parent's garage, they'd gotten it right and it had been admittedly awesome. But a few weeks after that, Michael had left for the army, and she had cried and he hugged her, but he hadn't felt much of anything about leaving except relief that he would finally be away from his miserable family._

_ During his years in the Army and then Special Forces, there'd been the odd girl here and there, but honestly, Michael didn't really have much time or energy to devote to anyone else. Then he had joined the CIA, and the work and training had basically taken over his life until he met Samantha, a professional thief and his now-fiancee who just made him feel very guilty every time he thought about her._

_ He had met Samantha four months before he was assigned to Ireland, and their relationship had moved very quickly, always been completely dictated by Samantha. She had initiated their first kiss, and after he had helped her out with a job, she'd fucked him practically the moment they'd walked through the door of her apartment. She had even proposed to him. At first, Michael thought it was a good arrangement for him because their relationship was easy and never emotionally demanding. She controlled everything and asked nothing but that he do what she wanted. But the more it had gone on, the more he had started to resent her. _

_ And for someone so aggressive and liberated, sex with Samantha was oddly clinical and emotionless. She was always instructing him during sex—put-your-hand-here-now-to-the-left-use-two-fingers, etc. etc. It was exhausting, and almost impossible to get anything out of it except relief when it was over. The only upside Michael could find is that he had learned more about sex in the past four months with Samantha than he had learned in his previous decade of being a sexually active adult. He now knew more than three positions. He had gotten so good at giving oral sex that he could practically teach a seminar. But he also had a bad feeling that sexual expertise shouldn't be the only good thing he could say about his future wife. _

_ He knew he should just break it off with her, but he was a little scared of what her reaction would be. From what he had gathered, Samantha had gotten her way her entire life, and Michael had no clue what havoc she would wreak on the life of the first person to ever tell her no. But he also didn't want to cheat on her. Michael had suspected his father of running around on his mom for years, and he refused to be that guy. But he also knew if he spent much more time around Fiona, cheating was a distinct possibility._

_ Michael rubbed his forehead wearily. This was exhausting. Maybe he'd had the right idea just avoiding the whole emotional nightmare of trying to navigate any kind of relationship while lying for a living._

_ "Drinking alone?" Michael approached Fiona at the bar._

_ She turned to look at him with a small smile. "Not anymore." Fiona spun around on her stool, leaning back with her elbows on the bar. "You're right on time, McBride."_

_ "Man of my word." Michael shrugged, trying not to notice that Fiona had a very distracting habit of wearing white tank tops with no bra underneath. _

_ Fiona took the final sip of her Guiness, slamming down the glass on the bar with her usual intensity. "Shall we find somewhere a bit more quiet? To…talk?" She raised a suggestive eyebrow, and he got her meaning. _

_ Michael forced down a rush of nervous energy, taking her hand, helping her up before slinging an arm over her shoulders. They made their way across the bar, playing parts to justify needing to step out in the back alley, doing a very good impression of a couple who really needed to get a room, Fiona sliding her hand across his chest and under his jacket as she started to kiss the side of his neck. Michael felt like he was about to pass out, knowing they should wrap this up quickly. He didn't trust himself to drop this particular part of the cover once they got outside if it went any further._

_ "Come on, Michael." Fiona's lips were against his ear. "We need to sell this."_

_ At the sound of her voice in his ear, Michael didn't stop to think or second-guess himself. He barely even had to turn his head to kiss her, Fiona responding hungrily, letting Michael back her up into a table where, at the beginning of their charade, they had both noticed an older couple not subtly giving them judgmental glares. When Michael and Fiona hit the table, hard enough to shake the beer glasses, the older (very Irish) man slammed his fist down on the table. "Oi, you two!"_

_ Fiona broke the kiss, looking over her shoulder at the older couple, wiping off her mouth with a little laugh. "S-Sorry."_

_ Michael shrugged at their annoyed expressions, his hand still unapologetically on Fiona's ass. "It's our anniversary." _

_ "What anniversary? The first time you paid her for it?" The man grumbled._

_ "You watch your fucking mouth." Michael growled, Fiona holding him back._

_ "Come on, baby. Not tonight. We have better things to do," her voice was soft, her lips against his cheek._

_ "You're damn lucky." Michael pointed at the man, letting Fiona drag him away and out into the back alley._

_ They stepped outside, still all over each other until they were through the door and Fiona released him to make sure the door was closed securely behind them. Michael was still right behind her, his hand on her waist, unable to make himself step away. Her long dark hair was in a loose braid over her shoulder, and the citrusy scent of her shampoo flooded Michael's nostrils when he was this close to her. Fiona had a remarkable talent of always smelling like she had just stepped out of the shower, even in the back alley of a rundown bar. _

_ She turned around to face him, finding Michael close enough to smell her hair. Fiona looked up at him, her bright green eyes hard to read but almost, if he had to guess…nervous? _

_ "We don't have to pretend out here," she reminded him._

_ "Who's pretending?" Michael brushed her hair back behind her ear, leaning down to kiss her again. After a moment of hesitation, Fiona kissed him back, her hands sliding up over his shoulders, wrapping her arms around him until there was no space between them anymore. Michael pushed her back up against the brick wall, Fiona letting out a small sigh of pleasure as their lips parted and his tongue began to work against hers. She was powerful and passionate, but for a moment, she let him take charge, and Michael felt a rush of arousal at the idea of finally deciding something for himself. And then, as they kissed, Fiona raising up slightly to get closer to him, her nipples hard and erect against his chest, the only sound their frenzied breathing, Michael's mind finally went quiet. He wasn't trying to think two steps ahead, or complete a mission, or outmaneuver a target…he was just here, with her, in this moment. _

_ But then, the door to the back alley swung open. "What the hell, Fiona?"  
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_ Fiona reluctantly tore herself away from Michael, looking towards their new visitor, a handsome but slightly wild-eyed Irishman. Her face fell into an expression of annoyance. "Sean. What are you doing here?"_

_ "They told me I could find you out here. I wanted to make sure the hand-off had gone all right. But apparently, it's going just fine." Sean glared at Michael, who still felt and looked slightly dazed. _

_ "Michael, this is my brother, Sean. He's part of the group as well." Fiona smoothed down her braid, her cheeks bright red, feeling about thirteen years old again. "Sean, this is Michael McBride. He's the one running the package for us."_

_ "I've never seen you around before. And I know everyone in this town." Sean looked Michael up and down suspiciously._

"_My family's from Kilkenney."_

_Sean's brow furrowed. "Ah. And how do you two know each other?"_

_ "I trust him, Sean. That's all you need to know." Fiona stepped in front of Michael. _

_ "Didn't know you were the type to bring your boyfriends into the family business, Fiona."_

_ "He's not my boyfriend," Fiona said defensively. "And we have work to do. So unless you have anything else to contribute, I'll see you when I get home."_

_ "Fine." Sean turned from his sister to Michael. "But just so you know, McBride…there's five of us Glenanne brothers. And you really don't want any of us for an enemy." _

_ "Got it. Loud and clear." Michael gave him a little salute, stepping well away from his sister._

_ "Good." Sean jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, feeling a bit awkward now that he'd given his little speech. "See you at home, sis."_

_ Fiona waved him off, and after Sean left the alleyway, she and Michael fell into an uneasy silence. _

_ "So." Michael turned back to her with a smile. "Five brothers. That's fun."_

_ "That's one word for it." Fiona smiled back. They looked at each other for a long moment before she cleared a throat and retrieved a manila packing envelope from the inside pocket of her jacket. She held it out to Michael. "The package."_

_ Michael took it from her, their hands brushing. Fiona closed her eyes briefly at his touch, taking in a sharp breath. It was the first time Michael had ever seen behind her cool, collected façade, and he found he liked this Fiona even better. She always had a raw, animalistic way about her, especially when she let her guard down, and Michael couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to really feel her against him, nothing between them, nothing held back…_

_ Fiona leaned back against the wall, as if suddenly exhausted. "Tomorrow night. I'll meet you in Dublin at ten for the job. Make sure everything's ready when I get there."_

_ "I will." Michael nodded. "And maybe after the job…we can finally get that drink." _

_ Fiona laughed softly. "It's a date." _

_ Michael put his hand on her cheek, leaning in, his lips brushing the skin right next to her mouth, not letting himself fully kiss her again until he could do it without reservations. Fiona didn't reach out for him, but leaned her forehead against his when he pulled back slightly. Neither of them had been expecting a moment of such tenderness, and they suddenly both felt much more naked and exposed than when they had been about to rip off each other's clothes moments before. _

_ "I'll see you tomorrow, Fiona." Michael dropped his hand from her cheek, walking away quickly before he could change his mind. _

_ He took a cab home, and the moment he walked into his crappy hotel room, he pulled his current burner cell out of his jacket pocket, hastily dialing a well-known number. _

_ "Yes?" Samantha answered the call with her usual brisk tone._

_ "Hey, Sam. It's Michael." He took a deep breath. "We need to talk."_

A/N- More to come soon!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N- Thank you guys so much for your encouraging reviews! I absolutely loved reading them, and you all gave me the inspiration to keep going with this story. I appreciate your input so much, and I hope you enjoy Chapter Two!

Family Man

Chapter Two

_Dublin_

_1999_

"Damn it, Michael, they're right outside! You have the file?" Fiona's voice came through Michael's earpiece as he finally navigated the cabinet's lock, the building's alarm ringing through the building. It was nearly midnight, and she was watching the headquarters of the extremist IRA faction they were working together to take down through binoculars from a room in an abandoned hotel across the street.

Michael hastily grabbed the file they needed, tucking it into his jacket and hurrying towards the exit. "Got it."

"Good. Now get the hell out of there. And once you do…I'd take cover."

Michael smiled, using his shoulder to get through the locked door leading to the back stairwell. "I've got to say—I'm excited to finally see your work."

"You should be," Fiona said, and Michael could tell she was smiling too. "See you on the other side, Michael."

"See you, Fi."

He had never called her that before. Fiona shook out her hands and clicked off her comm system, knowing she needed to focus. The sound of Michael's voice was not helping keep her mind on the mission.

As soon as she saw that Michael was safely clear of the building, she employed the remote detonator with her thumb, and as the line of explosives throughout the building went off in perfect time, billowing fire lighting up the night sky, Fiona closed her eyes, letting out a long breath and feeling totally at peace.

"Holy shit…" Michael finally lowered his arms from over his head, stepping out from behind the bench where he'd dived for cover when Fiona's bombs went off.

He had been expecting a distraction to put off the bad guys—not something akin to the fucking apocalypse. Michael had heard rumors that Fiona viewed explosives not only as her work, but as her art, and that she had earned every bit of her "mad-bomber" reputation. But seeing her work with his own eyes was very different than reading about it in a file, and while Michael was impressed—and even, bizarrely, turned on—by what she could do, he was also worried about whether or not she had been hurt. The detonations had taken out more than just the extremist headquarters— the force had shattered the windows of the abandoned hotel across the street where Fiona was stationed. If she had been standing too close, she could be seriously injured. Even killed.

He put his hand to his ear. "Fiona? Fi?" He tried to reach her over the comm system, but there was no answer. Michael felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. He raced across the street, kicking through the back door of the hotel and hurrying up the stairs, his heart pounding in his throat.

This wasn't just concern over a fellow operative. This was something else, something he'd never felt before. Something that scared the hell out of him.

Michael had always just passively observed people coming in and out of his life with little to no emotional attachment or feeling when they were gone. Last night, he'd ended things with Samantha, and there had been no tears, no pleading, no soppy goodbyes, on either of their parts. She had just listened without argument or interruption to his lame explanation of saying that he thought they wanted different things, it wasn't fair to ask her to wait for him while he was in Ireland, and that his job would just inevitably keep coming between them, etc. etc. etc. When Michael had finished his explanation and said he was sorry at least a dozen times, there was an unbearably awkward silence before Samantha finally said anything, her words short and clipped—

"It's fine. Have a nice life, Michael. And don't call me again."

Before Michael could say anything else, Samantha had hung up and that had been that. An almost-marriage ended in about five minutes, and Michael had fallen asleep afterwards, not at all heartbroken but just guiltily thinking about Fiona. Wasn't there supposed to be some kind of celibate mourning period after a relationship ended? He had no clue. But at least Michael knew he had done the right thing breaking things off—although that meant he had to actually address what was happening with Fiona.

Unless she was already gone. What had she been thinking, setting off enough bombs to destroy a city block? His head pounding with a curious mixture of worry, anger, and adrenaline, Michael ran down the hotel hallway towards the room where Fiona had told him she was stationed.

"Fiona?" He opened the door, stumbling across the threshold to see Fiona calmly packing up her supplies in a duffel bag, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder and looking up at him with a small smile.

"How did you like the show?" she asked.

Michael walked towards her, feeling as though he was moving in slow motion, shards of glass from the broken windows crunching underneath his shoes. He could hear police and fire truck sirens from across the street, but they sounded very far away, as if he and Fiona were miles above everything else.

He finally reached her, Fiona standing up from the ground to look him in the eyes, seemingly confused by his somber expression. "Michael…" She reached up to his cheek.

Michael caught her hand with his, almost desperately pressing his lips against her open palm before turning back to her. "You didn't answer on your radio. I thought you'd been hurt, or…"

Fiona looked up at him, suddenly her clothes unbearably hot when Michel looked at her like that. Maybe if she just took everything off. Maybe if they both did. "I'm sorry. I turned off my radio. I needed to focus on the job." She licked her lips. "You don't make it easy, you know."

"What?"

"Being professional. I mean…it's hard to care about a job when I all I want to do…" Fiona's eyes slid down to his mouth, and Michael swallowed hard, his heart speeding up for a very different reason now.

"I know." Michael's hands were on her hips, his fingers resting on the sliver of bare skin between her black t-shirt and tight jeans. He leaned forward, Fiona tilting her face up towards his as their lips barely brushed, gently, almost experimentally. Michael took a deep breath when they parted, still just inches apart, the space between them electric with anticipation. "We should…I mean, we probably should get out of here…they could come looking for us."

Fiona shook her head, her mind made up. She had never been the biggest fan of anything gentle or tentative. "I'm done waiting." She closed the space between them, his face in her hands as she kissed him with bruising force, Michael responding eagerly, both pulling at each other's clothes as they stumbled over to the bare mattress on an iron bed frame in the corner of the room left over from the days when the hotel had been in business. Michael lowered her onto the mattress, hurriedly kicking off his shoes, Fiona tugging her t-shirt over her head, tossing it to the ground before ripping open his shirt, buttons rolling away uselessly.

Michael unhooked her bra, sliding the straps off her shoulders before kissing her neck, Fiona sighing with pleasure as his lips followed his hands and moved down to her breasts, his tongue flicking lightly over her right nipple as he unbuttoned her jeans, sliding one hand between her legs and putting his hard-earned knowledge to work, Fiona's breath hitching in her throat as a steady thudding sensation began to pulse through her body at his touch.

"Michael…" she breathed out, her accented voice throaty and low in his ear, Michael getting so hard he didn't know if he could stand much more foreplay.

Thankfully, Fiona didn't seem to want to wait any longer either, shoving him down on the mattress to undo his pants and slide off the rest of his clothes before she jerked him back up to her, kissing him again with an animalistic fervor that Michael was surprised to find himself not only liking, but returning.

Fiona broke the kiss for a moment, her arms still wrapped around his neck. "Wait, Michael…do you have…" she breathlessly looked towards his pants on the floor.

It took Michael's addled mind a moment to realize she was asking him about protection. "Y-Yeah, in my wallet…" He grabbed the pants, fumbling for his wallet before hurriedly putting on a condom, secretly glad Samantha had made him so much more adept at these things. Samantha had been on birth control, but still made Michael wear condoms every time, telling him there was "no fucking way" she wanted kids with him or anyone else.

But disturbing memories of his past relationship faded away as he watched Fiona take off her jeans and underwear, Michael's eyes glazing over with a dazed kind of happiness before Fiona pulled him back up to her, kissing him again and falling back on the mattress with a weak cry when Michael finally thrust inside her. After that, everything went a little hazy for them both. There were no instructions, no demands, hardly any words at all—it was almost like their bodies just moved together to some instinctive rhythm. They didn't stay in one position very long, first Michael on top of her, then Fiona pinning his arms down against the mattress, her knees spread wide on top of him, then Fiona clutching the headboard with Michael behind her, then finally they left the bed, Michael holding her up with her legs wrapped around his waist, her back against the wall next to the open window, Fiona's frenzied breathing turning into gasps as she moved her hips against him, finally bringing each other to a climax but trying not to attract unwanted attention from the fleet of police outside their window, Michael's head buried in her shoulder as he let out a groan of release, his hand covering Fiona's mouth as she cried out his name against his palm.

Afterwards, he gently helped her back down to standing on two feet. Fiona leaned her head against his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat and holding onto his shoulders, her shaking legs barely able to support her. Michael stroked her long dark hair for a long, quiet moment before she looked back up at him. There was nothing to say after such an encounter that would do it justice, so they just stayed silent, both still breathing hard, completely exposed. Until now, neither had ever opened up to anyone without regretting it afterwards. But now the line was crossed, and they weren't sorry.

Michael leaned forward to kiss her once more, Fiona's hands tightening on his shoulders as she kissed him back, a deep, slow embrace that felt both passionate but oddly comfortable, like they could come home to this for the rest of their lives. Fiona broke the kiss, letting out a long breath. "Holy hell, McBride. Don't kiss me like that if you expect me to stay standing."

She walked past him, lying down on the mattress, still completely naked and seemingly unconcerned. Michael, usually a much more modest person than his behavior of minutes earlier would attest, returned to his normal, saner self, retrieving his boxers from the floor and stepping into them before picking his way across their self-constructed war zone of scattered clothes, used condoms and broken glass. Michael had a sudden, juvenile flash of the scene in Die Hard where John McClane had to walk across glass in bare feet—but this was even better. There was a beautiful, naked woman waiting at the end of this particular scenario. Michael fought down a smile, laying beside her on the bare mattress and thinking that after all his years as an international spy, this was still the first time he'd ever really felt cool.

Fiona rolled onto her side, leaning over and kissing his chest. "Why are you getting dressed?"

"Well, we're not staying here for the night, are we?" Michael grinned, stroking her bare back with his hand.

"Oh, you don't like the room I've chosen for us?" Fiona asked with mock offense.

"Broken glass on the floor and police sirens across the street don't really set the mood for me, Fi." Michael smiled.

"Yeah, right." She leaned down, kissing him, this time on the mouth. "Can I be perfectly honest with you?"

Michael nodded, having a flash of panic that she was about to tell him she was married or something.

"That was the best shag of my life." Fiona smoothed his dark hair back off his forehead.

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Fiona rolled her eyes with a small laugh. "Michael. I think I left teeth marks on your hand. Yes, _really_." She kissed his chest again before looking up at him curiously. "Did you think this was going to happen tonight?"

"You mean, did I think we'd end up in bed together in an abandoned hotel room after you nearly took out a city block with your own personal artillery?" Michael asked, tracing the curve of her left breast with his hand. "I didn't get that specific."

Fiona sighed with impatience. "But you thought we'd end up sleeping together?"

Michael didn't answer right away, wondering if he was allowed to say yes. Fiona smiled at the panicked expression on his face. "You can say yes." She crossed her bare leg over his. "I've been wanting this since the moment we met."

"Me too." Michael finally admitted, smiling back. "Should we get out of here? Finally get that drink?"

Fiona sat up slightly, swinging her leg further over to fully straddle him, leaning down towards him, her long dark hair falling around his face and flooding Michael's nostrils with the fresh, citrus scent he'd come to associate with being close enough to touch her. "You really want to leave?" Fiona purred, kissing him before gently biting down on his bottom lip.

"That hurts." Michael protested weakly, but Fiona felt his body responding to her despite his objections.

"You can bite me back," Fiona muttered against his mouth.

They never did get around to that drink.

_Langley, Virginia_

_2016_

"Did you call Sam?" Fiona asked, her speech slightly obscured by the electric toothbrush currently in her mouth as she and Michael got ready the morning after he returned home.

Michael nodded, finishing shaving and toweling off his face. "Yeah. He said he can't wait and they'll book their tickets for getting here early Friday morning. And he said if we leave a six pack in the fridge, he won't even guilt trip us about the favor."

Fiona spit out her toothpaste in the sink, wiping off her mouth as well. "Good. Thanks for calling him."

"No problem." Michael smiled at her. "You glad you married me?'

Fiona smiled back. "Sometimes." She leaned over, kissing him briefly on the lips.

Michael caught her by the waist, kissing her again, longer this time. "What is that? Cinnamon?"

"New toothpaste." Fiona grinned as he looked her over, clearly wanting his favorite morning activity. "Seriously, Michael? That's enough to turn you on?"

"I was gone for three weeks. It's enough." Michael smiled, his hand sliding under the t-shirt she was wearing to the waistband of her underwear. "Hey, Fi…"

"Yes, Michael?" She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I think we still have some catching up to do—"

"Mommy? Why is the door locked?" They both heard Maddy's voice on the other side of their bedroom door, her little hand twisting the doorknob back and forth from the outside.

Fiona sighed, putting a finger to Michael's lips. "Hold that thought." She reluctantly stepped away from her husband, unlocking and opening their bedroom door to reveal a very annoyed looking Maddy.

"Mommy, you're late. You always come read to me in the mornings." Maddy crossed her arms over her chest.

Fiona bent down to her daughter's eye level, brushing her sleep-mussed brown curls back behind her ear. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Mommy was just spending time with Daddy."

Maddy looked at her father, her eyes narrowing into a glare. "You don't get to spend time with Mommy in the mornings. I do."

Michael smiled. Maddy sounded just like her grandmother when she got like this. "I think we're going to have to learn to share, kiddo."

"Why?" Maddy pouted, clearly having woken up on the wrong side of her little jungle bed. "_You're_ the one who's always leaving."

"Maddy. Don't talk to your father like that." Fiona blinked with surprise.

"It's true." Maddy shrugged her small shoulders.

Michael and Fiona exchanged a look, Fiona coming to a sudden decision. "You know what, sweetheart, I'm going to take a shower." Fiona told Maddy. "Go downstairs and have breakfast with your father, and I'll be there soon, all right?"

Maddy shook her head. "I want you to come too."

"I'll be right down." Fiona kissed the top of her daughter's head as she stood back up again. "Daddy will make you waffles."

"Like how you make them?"

"Yes."

"Fine." Maddy shuffled off towards the kitchen, and Michael turned towards Fiona, looking slightly alarmed. "How do you make waffles?"

"Blueberry with butter on top. And make sure to cut them into hearts with the little cookie cutters in the silverware drawer." Fiona explained.

"Heart-shaped waffles?" Michael smiled. "That's verging on adorable, Fi."

"I know. I told you. I really need to start blowing things up again."

"Soon." Michael promised with a smile.

Fiona let out a contented sigh. "I love you."

Michael laughed, his hand on her hip as he kissed the side of her neck, his response quiet. "Love you too, Fi." Still, even after being married almost five years, he usually mumbled his way through I-love-you's. Michael hadn't grown up saying I love you to anyone, and it was still a learning process to get comfortable with saying it, even to his own family.

He walked past her and down the stairs to the kitchen, Fiona closing the bathroom door after him and shivering slightly at the pleasant lingering smell of his woodsy aftershave and the visual of his blindingly white smile and muscled body under his thin gray t-shirt and boxers. They'd been together for so long, but all time had really done to Michael's appearance was give him more gray hair around the temples. Her husband was and would always be a damn good-looking man, and it still gave Fiona a little possessive thrill that he was all hers.

She stripped off his Army t-shirt and her underwear, turning the shower faucet to the boiling hot temperature she preferred, and wishing Michael could join her as she stepped under the pulsing showerhead. This shower was much nicer and more expensive than the one they'd shared in Michael's Miami loft, but Fiona remembered rather wistfully that they'd had much more sex in the slightly cramped, forever dripping shower in the loft than they'd ever had in this immaculately tiled, two-person model they'd spent a fortune installing in their Virginia home.

Fiona shook her head with a small laugh. This was just sad. She actually missed the loft. She and Michael had spent some of their best times together there, even though it was barely fit for human habitation when she first moved in. She knew it was silly and pointless, but thinking about the loft always made her nostalgic for Miami. Fiona couldn't shake the rather gloomy feeling that they had left just when it started to really feel like home.

A/N- Next time—father/daughter breakfast, Sam comes to town, Michael and Fi's vacation, and a flashback to their first encounter after Ireland where things get a little dark and twisted…I love reviews! Until next time…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N- Thanks again for reading! Hope you all enjoy!

Family Man

Chapter Three

_Belfast, Ireland_

_2000_

"Who keeps calling you?" Fiona grumbled when the sound of Michael's cell phone buzzing on the nightstand woke them up for the third time that night.

Michael checked his phone. "I don't know the number. Someone must just be calling it by mistake."

"Then just answer it and tell them it's the wrong number." Fiona sleepily kissed his shoulder, curling back up against him and closing her eyes.

Michael complied, seeing no other option. "Hello?" His voice came out raspy after a deep sleep.

"Michael. It's Larry. They're not fucking around anymore."

Michael kept his expression neutral, grateful for years of CIA training in hiding his emotions. "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong number."

"The boss man told you've been dodging the agency's calls, so he asked me to handle this personally. You're out. It's over. It's been over for a long time, but this time, you've pissed off the wrong guy. He knows who you really are. He's coming to kill you, and anyone else with you."

Michael carefully got out of bed without moving her, walking into the bathroom in Fiona's apartment and closing the door behind him. He moved to the farthest corner, speaking in an angry whisper. "What guy? What are you talking about?"

"Just listen to me. I'm extracting you myself. Tonight."

"No. No, I need more time."

"For what?" Larry scoffed.

"I need more time." Michael repeated firmly.

Larry sighed. "Fine. Fine. I don't know when you got so fucking sentimental, kid. But I'll do my best. Maybe I can reroute his flight…buy you a day, at the most. Pack up your shit, say your goodbyes, and I'll meet you at the docks tomorrow night at ten. If you don't show…I can't help you anymore. It's going to be a bloodbath, Michael. He'll have the whole IRA gunning for you soon."

Michael squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I'll be there," he finally said quietly.

"What? You're breaking up." Larry's voice was starting to cut out.

"I said, I'll be there." Michael repeated, clicking the phone shut and trying to resist the urge to throw it against the wall.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened, startling him. Fiona had put on his white button down shirt, and was looking up at him with sleepy eyes. "Who was that?" she asked.

Michael looked back at her, flooded with the sudden, crazy thought of just dropping the McBride accent and telling her everything. Maybe she'd still love him. Maybe she'd go with him.

But he couldn't risk it. If someone wanted him dead, the best thing he could do for her is get as far away as possible. The time had come. Time to wake up. Time to go back to his real life.

But not just yet. He stepped closer to her, rubbing her arms with his hands. "Like I said, wrong number."

Fiona's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Don't lie to me."

Michael swallowed hard, trying to think of a better explanation for the phone call but unable to formulate anything. This was going to turn into a fight—as did most of their conversations— and Michael felt a bizarre sense of excitement. The six months they'd shared as a couple had been the most exhilaratingly turbulent of his life, their passionate relationship continually swinging from being madly in love and literally unable to get enough of each other to having knock-down, drag-out fights where they swore they never wanted to see each other again but always just ended up having loud, dirty make-up sex, sometimes and most memorably in semi-public locations like back alleys, elevators, and even once in a bank vault after they'd knocked the guards unconscious for a nighttime robbery that they'd just barely pulled off after getting so distracted, and the cycle would start all over again.

She brought out a danger-seeking, fuck-the-rules side of him he hadn't even known existed before Fiona, and Michael was starting to like his life so much as Michael McBride that it wasn't even pretending anymore to become him. Michael Westen was a dull, distant memory. Now he was Michael McBride, and Michael McBride was in love with Fiona. The exciting push-and-pull dynamic of their relationship had literally taken over Michael's life to a degree that he could barely remember what appeal life had held for him before her. Being with her wasn't easy or low-maintenance or any of the things he thought he wanted from a romantic relationship. It was all-consuming and dizzyingly intense, and he loved it. They couldn't have predicted it and knew it wasn't exactly healthy, but facts were facts. They were both completely addicted to each other.

He and Fiona had become so inseparable that he had practically become a part of the Glennane family, her mother and five brothers finally accepting him as one of their own. They were the kind of close-knit family Michael hadn't even believed could exist before he met them, and other than their uniformly criminal leanings, they were the most moral, loving people Michael had ever met. The thought of leaving them behind was torture. The thought of leaving Fiona behind was impossible.

"Michael." Fiona interrupted his reverie. "If it was really a wrong number, you wouldn't be sneaking off to the bathroom to answer it. Just tell me the truth."

"What exactly are you suspicious of?" he demanded.

"I know something's wrong. Something's been wrong for weeks."

"Nothing's wrong, okay? It was just a guy calling about some job."

"Bullshit."

Michael sighed. "It's late, Fi. Let's just go to sleep."

"No. Tell me who's been calling you non-stop these past few weeks. Are you fucking someone else?'

"Fiona, when would I have time to cheat on you? When's the last time we spent more than a few hours away from each other?"

"Oh, so now you want out?"

"I didn't say that!"

"You didn't have to." She swung her fist to hit him hard, Michael blocking the blow and pinning her arms over her head against the bathroom wall, kissing her so hard it felt like a physical blow. Fiona sighed against his mouth before kissing him back, both wrestling each other to the ground as they embraced and pulled off each other's clothes, Fiona finally straddling him on the bathroom rug as he entered her, her breath catching in her throat at the now deliciously familiar feeling of him suddenly inside her. She started to circle her hips against him, hard and fast. Michael clutched her hips with his hands, the only sound their heavy breathing as they fucked. They knew each other's bodies so well at this point that getting each other off was starting to become a thrilling second nature, and this time was no exception. Fiona's hands clenched on his chest at the end as Michael closed his eyes when she finally cried out with release, Michael groaning as he finished with a rush of pleasure so powerful he saw lights popping behind his eyelids.

She leaned down to kiss him once more before she lay down beside him, her head on his chest. Michael opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling and letting out a long breath as he absently stroked her bare shoulder. "I love you, Fi."

"I love you too. Always," she muttered into his ear, kissing and gently biting down on his earlobe before resting her head on his shoulder. Their fight from moments before was, as always, lost in the afterglow, Michael's knowledge of his imminent and inevitable departure and Fiona's suspicions fading into what felt like very distant memories as they lay together on bathroom floor.

But as their heartbeats slowed and their breathing returned to normal, Michael remembered Larry's phone call. And the truth. This was all ending. The best thing he'd ever had in his life would be gone for good tomorrow night.

Michael swallowed hard, trying to force his brain to think, but still at a total loss of how he was supposed to say good-bye to her.

"Hey, Fi?" he finally spoke again.

"Yes?" She stroked his chest with her hand, kissing the side of his neck, clearly not satiated yet.

"Could I cook dinner for you tomorrow night?"

"Mmm. I'd like that." She started to slide her hand lower, down his stomach, and then lower still, Michael's breath catching in his throat. "What's the occasion?" Fiona purred into his ear.

"I-I just wanted you to know…how much you mean to me," Michael finally said, proud of himself for still being able to form coherent sentences when his girlfriend was clearly more interested in an activity that did not require any more talking.

Fiona smiled, pulling him on top of her, looking up at him, her green eyes oddly intent on his. "We're the lucky ones, you know."

"What do you mean?"

She kissed him, over and over, in that intoxicatingly lusty way particular to Fiona where it felt like she could devour him whole if she wanted, speaking whenever their lips briefly parted before coming back for more. "Some people…go their whole lives…and never feel this way about another person."

"I know."

"Before I met you, I didn't even think it was possible."

Michael looked down at her with a small smile. "And now?"

"Now I'm never letting you go."

They didn't say another word that night, fully lost in each other, finally making their way back to the bed and falling asleep as the sun came up on Michael's last day in Belfast. They spent most of the next day walking around the city together before Michael cooked her dinner at her apartment that night, and they made love in her bed for once like the normal happy couple they sometimes accidentally allowed themselves to become.

But the next morning, Fiona woke up without him. Confused and disoriented, she hurriedly got dressed and went to his apartment only to find it empty, all of his things packed and gone, not even a note left behind to explain where or why he had gone.

"Where is he?" A burly, hot-tempered IRA associate came barreling through the door to Michael's apartment, red-faced and spitting mad.

"He's gone." Fiona said, her words sounding false to her own ears.

The man shoved the file he was holding into Fiona's hands. She flipped through it while he was talking, looking long and hard at the copy of a CIA badge bearing Michael's face and the name Westen, Michael. "He was lying to all of us, Fiona. He's a bloody fucking American who was working for the CIA to bring all of us down." His eyes narrowed as he pulled a gun out of the back of his pants, clicking off the safety as he pushed the barrel up against the underside of her chin. "Or am I telling you something you already know?"

Fiona said nothing, betrayal and rage making for a very deadly combination as a roaring sound began to grow louder in her ears. She had fallen for every lie Michael ever told her. She had been the fool. "Have you told anyone else what you know?"

The man smiled, realizing from her stricken expression she hadn't known the truth and that he might have just found a very valuable ally against Michael Westen. "Not yet. I came here to kill him myself. What do you say, Fiona? He betrayed you more than anyone. Help me find him and I'll even let you have the second shot. I'll do the bullet in his head, you do the one in his heart."

Her next movement happened so fast that the man didn't even register she had taken his gun until she fired it twice into his chest. Fiona looked down at him bleeding out on the floor of Michael's apartment, her expression emotionless, hardly even hearing his pleas for mercy as she picked up the incriminating files, walked out the door and tossed the evidence against Michael, the gun, and a lit match into the trashcan outside a nearby liquor store. The trash immediately ignited into billowing flames, Fiona not looking behind her as people screamed and called for help.

She just kept walking, mentally reviewing her options for getting a good fake passport in enough time to leave Ireland tonight, not caring where she had to start or what it would take to track him down. She would find Michael Westen—if only to kill him herself.

_Langley, Virginia_

_2016_

"Blueberry waffles, coming right up." Michael put the Eggos into the toaster, Maddy watching him with her chin resting in her hands. When she didn't speak for a long moment, Michael cleared his throat a little nervously. "So, kiddo, school starts soon, right?"

"Yeah." Maddy shrugged. "Me and mommy went to meet my teacher at the school last week with all the other kids in my class and their parents. One of the daddies asked mommy if she was married."

"What?" Michael nearly overflowed the glass of milk he was pouring for Maddy.

"Don't worry, daddy. She told him she was."

"What, the wedding ring didn't tip him off?" Michael asked with narrowed eyes.

"Everyone thinks it's just me and her. You never come to anything."

Michael sighed, talking to her like an adult as he always did. He wasn't quite sure how to talk to children any other way. "Maddy, I've told you about my job. It's not like I can just take a night off. I have to be ready whenever they need me."

"Or what?" Maddy countered.

"Or some very bad people will do some very bad things. My job is to stop those people."

"But what about me and mommy?"

"I always come back to you two, don't I?" Michael took out the waffles, placing them on her purple polka dot plate and dutifully cutting them into hearts with the cookie cutter.

"Not for long." Maddy grumbled, watching as her father spread butter on the waffles per Fiona's instructions.

Michael set down the butter knife, walking around the counter and sitting down at the stool beside her. "Maddy. Look at me."

She reluctantly obeyed.

"Tell me what's wrong."

She looked down at her hands, twisting them together, unable to look back at him as she mumbled her next question. "Do you even want to be here? Do you want to be my daddy?"

Michael breathed out, feeling like he'd just been punched in the stomach. "Of course I do."

"You promise?" Maddy wiped tears off her cheeks.

"I promise."

"And you'll always come back home?"

"I'll always come back home." Michael held out his pinky finger, Maddy hooking hers around his with a small smile. It was something they had done since she was very little, and the small gesture seemed to comfort her.

"Now. Eat your waffles." Michael got back to his feet, pressing a kiss against the top of her head before going back to his side of the counter and pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

It didn't feel like things were completely fixed between them, but the mood in the room was lighter as Maddy started to tell him more about her new school and teacher. Michael sat down with her, and eventually Fiona joined them for a very lazy morning at home. Inactivity felt very strange to Michael, but it was actually nice. He didn't get many days off with nothing pressing to do except spend time with his family.

And despite his near-continual anxiety about whether or not he would ever live up to what Fiona wanted from a husband or Maddy needed from a father— it was good to be home.

_Moscow, Russia_

_2001_

"Fiona Glenanne." Larry dropped a file on the table in front of Michael.

Michael literally couldn't find his voice for a moment, clearing his throat to buy a moment to recover. "Who?" He finally choked out.

It wasn't his most convincing performance, but Larry seemed to buy it. "She's some crazy bitch making a name for herself doing freelance demolition work. Used to be IRA, but was smart enough to figure out there's more money in working for the highest bidder instead of some shoddy would-be revolutionaries." Larry flopped down in the chair on the other side of the table. "You've really never heard of her? She was in Ireland around the same time as you."

"The name doesn't sound familiar."

Larry looked at Michael for a long moment, a brief, almost knowing smile flashing across his harshly handsome features. But just when Michael noticed his expression, it was gone and Larry was back to his usual inscrutable expression. "Check out her picture. Real looker."

Michael opened the file, his heart twisting painfully as he looked down at the mug shot of Fiona attached to the front page, taken when she was probably around nineteen, looking at the camera with a characteristic fuck-you glint in her eyes. He kept looking through the file, re-reading familiar crimes and seeing familiar pictures from security camera footage that he'd practically memorized when he'd tried to talk himself out of getting involved with her in the beginning.

"Not bad, huh?" Larry interrupted his reverie. "I mean, I wouldn't mind some bigger tits, but you're more of a happy-handful guy, right?"

Michael took a deep breath. "Where are you going with this?"

Larry sighed. "You're no fun." He took the file back. "I called her about the job—used our Russian aliases. Not like it mattered— she didn't seem to know or care who she was talking to. She's interested. You're meeting her downtown in an hour."

Michael felt like the room was starting to spin, very slowly. This could not be happening. "I really wish you would have consulted me about this, Larry."

"What? You don't like her?"

Michael sighed. "I have heard of her, okay? She's unstable. And reckless. And the last thing we need after what you did in Chechnya."

"What _I_did?" Larry laughed out loud. "Oh, yes, Michael the choir boy. I forgot. You never kill anyone or fuck anyone or do anything that gets your hands dirty. It's always big, bad Larry forcing you to play his game, right?"

"More like cloak his sins." Michael said coldly.

Larry got to his feet, crossing to Michael's side of the table and glaring through narrowed, cold blue eyes. "You know, Michael, taking the path of least resistance doesn't make you innocent. It makes you weak."

There was a long, tense moment as the two men just looked at each other, too many years of shared history and stifled anger and quiet regret between them to come to any kind of resolution tonight.

"I should go." Michael finally got to his feet. "I don't really want to piss off a demolitions expert."

"Have fun, champ. Wear a condom." Larry smiled tightly, clapping Michael on the shoulder before Michael shrugged out of his grasp and left without another word.

_Red Square_

Michael wouldn't have recognized her right away if he hadn't been looking for her. She was standing by a park bench, her already lean body now deathly thin and her usually tan skin pale, a brutally cold wind whipping her hair and clothes as she scanned the square for her new contact. Fiona had cut off the long, gorgeous brown hair he still regularly fantasized about running his hands through when he allowed himself to remember how good it had felt to make love to her every night. Her new short hair barely reached her chin, and was dyed jet black. The Fiona he'd known in Belfast had never worn make-up— now she was wearing heavy black eye-liner and dark purple lipstick. And instead of her usual white tank top and jeans, she was wearing black leather pants and a spiderweb-like netted shirt over a black bra, leather fingerless gloves on her hands as she re-lit a cigarette with a lighter bearing the Irish flag. He'd never seen Fiona smoke once in their entire relationship.

He watched her take a long drag off the cigarette as he approached, Fiona looking the other way and not noticing him until he was barely ten feet away from her. When she finally did see him, Fiona only appeared stricken with surprise for a brief instant before forcing her features into a neutral expression, recovering from the shock with admirable speed.

"Well, well. Michael Westen. The CIA's golden boy." She crossed her arms over her chest, making sure he realized that she knew everything now. "Now they have you posing as some Russian psychopath. You screwing a local girl here too?"

"Fi…this wasn't my idea." Michael muttered under his breath, joining her by the park bench as tourists and businessmen hurried past them on their way home from work. "My partner set up this meeting. I would never…"

"Never what? Never wanted to see me again if you could help it?" Fiona hissed, stubbing out her cigarette dangerously close to his hand on the park bench. "Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you to hell."

"I'm so sorry—"

She laughed humorlessly. "Go ahead and do your Russian accent, please. Your American one makes you sound like real asshole."

"I wanted to tell you the truth, Fi."

"Then you would have." She finally met his eyes when they were standing close to each other, blinking rapidly as if trying to fight back any emotion. "You know, this actually works out nicely. I've been looking everywhere for you, and fate finally intervened and dropped you in my lap."

"You've been looking for me?"

"Yes." Fiona leaned closer to him. "To cut your fucking throat."

Michael looked down at her as Fiona slid her tongue over her teeth, Michael desperately wanting to close the distance between them and start making up for lost time. She looked completely different, but just as hot. It was like Fiona had an evil twin. An evil twin Michael really, really wanted to have sex with. "Do you want the job or not, Fi?"

"Why would I? So you can sell me out to your little government buddies and they can put me in prison for the rest of my life?"

"It's not like that, Fi." Michael leaned down, muttering into her ear. "This isn't exactly an official mission."

"Fine." She shrugged her bony shoulders, pulling back to look at him. "It will be much easier to make your death look like an accident if we're working together again."

Michael nodded, deciding at this point he'd take what he could get. "Then let's get to work."

A/N- Sorry I got a little carried away with this chapter and didn't get to everything I meant to…next time, Sam finally shows up at the house in Virginia and we see the rest of the flashback of what happened with Russian Michael and Angry Fi's mission in Moscow…might get to married Mike and Fi's vacation next chapter as well…thanks for reviews as always! You guys always motivate me to keep writing!


	4. Chapter 4

Family Man

Chapter Four

_Miami, Florida_

_2012_

Michael felt like he'd been sleeping for a week straight. He would only wake up to pick at room service food or drink a glass of water, sometimes surf through a few channels before drifting off again. Even just walking to the ice machine made him feel exhausted.

They had tried everything. He, Sam, his mother, and Jesse—even Agent Pearce, with some cajoling—had done everything they could to exonerate Fiona. But it had all been for nothing. She was never getting out—Anson had made that perfectly clear. Michael wasn't even allowed to visit her. It had been three months since he'd seen her, three months since he stood outside the police station, shouting her name, begging her not to turn herself in.

But she had. And there was nothing he could do about it. And without her, what was the point? Michael felt lethargic to the point of being incapable of action without her, and he could barely stand to be at the loft (or anywhere else, really) any longer. Sam had suggested Michael get out of town for a little while. Both he and Jesse assured him they would keep trying to help Fiona while he was gone, but both privately thought that if Michael didn't take some time away from these crushing, continual disappointments in his quest to free Fiona, he was going to put a gun barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger soon enough. Apparently some people within the government had been whispering the words "death penalty" when it came to Fiona Glenanne, and everyone who knew Michael knew that if that happened, he would lose it completely.

Michael mercifully had not heard those rumors yet, and had agreed to leaving town for awhile mostly just to get them off his back. He hadn't quite made it out of town, just pulling over at the first shitty hotel he'd found in Miami and checked in for the week. His phone kept buzzing with calls, but he figured it was just his mother and he really didn't want to fend off her millionth "please-don't-kill-yourself" call. Finally on the fifth call, Michael picked up the phone, turning it off completely and rolling over in the bed. He hadn't even bothered really getting dressed after showering last night, just pulling on a gray t-shirt and boxers and sprawling out on his bed.

He fell asleep again, even though it was the middle of the day, and only woke up when he heard knocking on his door. Michael, even in his beleaguered state, still had the presence of mind to pull out the loaded gun from underneath his pillow, thumbing off the safety and moving slowly towards the door. It was probably just Anson, tailing him to laugh in Michael's face, gloat over the fact that he'd reduced him to this, from superspy to brokenhearted joke. Or maybe Sam or Jesse had seen his car parked outside the hotel, and wanted to see if he was hanging from the shower rod. This hadn't exactly been his most stealthy plan.

He walked to the door and didn't even bother to look through the peephole. If it was someone coming to kill him, Michael honestly would just be more relieved than anything else. He swung the door open, yawning hugely before looking up to see who it was.

He honestly thought he was hallucinating when he saw her standing there at his door.

"Michael." Fiona's voice broke just saying his name, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

His gun fell to the carpet, Michael too shocked to question what was happening, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her so tightly that it must have hurt. But Fiona returned the embrace just as fiercely.

He pulled back slightly to look at her after a moment, smoothing her hair back off her face, shaking his head. "What…how…"

"All Sam and Jesse told me is that Agent Pearce managed to negotiate my release in exchange for their evidence against Anson. I'm sure there's much more to it…but that's all I know." Fiona shook her head, smiling slightly. "What does it matter? I'm here now."

Michael didn't ask anymore questions, not wanting to jinx it, not wanting to wake up if he was dreaming, just kissing her hard, pushing her back against the hotel room door as they slammed it shut. And suddenly his questions didn't matter. His mind could process nothing but Fi kissing him back, the way he remembered, the way only Fiona ever could, animalistic and hungry. But this time, Michael felt himself responding in kind, just like the old days, the need to feel her bare skin against his consuming all else, and soon he had ripped her thin white t-shirt down the middle to get it off of her before they sank down to the floor in the corner together and Fiona straddled him against the wall for the kind of violent, desperate sex they'd both been missing like a drug. They said things during, and after that they had been running from for years, three words in particular over and over, words so long overdue that it almost seemed beside the point to say them now.

But they did say them, clinging to each other after they'd made love, their limbs tangled and intertwined as they huddled together in the corner of the room, refusing to let each other go. It almost felt like the moment their skin wasn't touching, it would all end.

They didn't leave the hotel room for three days, not taking calls or even speaking to another soul. When they finally did reemerge, they rarely let each other out of their sight, Michael holding her hand or keeping his arm around her wherever they went.

And even though they spent every moment together, Michael and Fiona's conversations stayed mostly frivolous and surface level for the first few weeks, both returning to old, familiar avoidance habits of letting great sex largely replace the intimacy of deep conversation. Neither of them were feeling all that talkative anyway, Fiona clearly unwilling to tell him about prison yet and Michael ashamed to tell her how completely he'd fallen apart on his own.

They went to dinner with his mother every Friday, and occasionally ventured out for groceries or to see Sam and Jesse, but neither seemed to really like leaving the loft. Agent Pearce called them both in for separate debriefings about the deal struck for Fiona's release, but Michael and Fiona hadn't discussed it much afterwards. What was there to say? According to what Pearce told Michael, she'd basically ransomed Michael's services to the government and Jesse and Sam's information on Anson's criminal acts (including the bombing for which he'd framed Fiona) for Fiona's release. They gave Michael his girlfriend back and expunged her record, but in exchange, he was theirs. Forever. He could never refuse another mission or even give someone a look they didn't like, because now, yet again, he belonged to them.

But Michael didn't care. If that's what it took to have Fi beside him, then fine. He wondered if Pearce had explained everything so bluntly to Fiona as well. He knew Fiona would despise the thought that he was a slave to the government for her sake. So he didn't dare bring it up, hoping Pearce had spun the truth a different way to Fiona. They returned back home after the debriefings, both lost in their own thoughts on the drive home. No more than a few words had been spoken about the meetings during that drive and subsequent return to the loft, where they were both more than happy to disappear back into their own little universe.

After about a month and a half of this self-imposed semi-isolation, they had been sitting on Michael's bed together, Michael eating yogurt and Fi painting her nails while they watched (and occasionally mocked) some stupid spy movie on TV when Michael realized Fiona hadn't made any wry comments about the movie's glacier-sized plot holes in awhile.

He looked over to her. 'You okay, Fi?"

She blew on her fingernails, giving no response but a furrowed brow.

"What's wrong?" Michael sat up slightly. Fiona looked very nervous, and he sensed that something big was about to happen. Maybe the time had finally come for them to talk, about prison, about Anson, about Pearce's deal, about all of it. "You can tell me anything."

"I hope so, Michael."

Michael muted the TV. "What is it?"

Fi looked up at him, letting out an irritated breath. Michael wracked his brains for something he had done that warranted an apology. They hadn't really done much lately but bum around the loft. Maybe that was what he was doing wrong. Maybe she wanted him to take her out, do something nice to celebrate her freedom instead of just eating take-out and having sex all the time.

He put his hand over hers. "Look, Fi, since you got back home, I know I haven't exactly been—"

"I'm pregnant." Fiona snapped, and when Michael didn't—or couldn't—formulate a response, his blue eyes almost comically large and stunned, Fiona eventually sat back on the pillow and unmuted the television, her lips curving into a smile as she patted his shoulder. "It's okay. I did the same thing for about three hours when I found out. Let me know when it sinks in."

_Langley, Virginia_

_2016_

"Mommy, can't you just pack me?" Maddy giggled, crawling inside Fiona's enormous suitcase and closing it over herself. "Daddy, help me zip it."

"Honey, get out of there." Fiona called from the where she was picking out shoes in the closet, Maddy giggling even harder when Michael lifted up the suitcase with her in it. "I'll make you my carry-on, Mads, how about that?" Michael grinned, carrying the suitcase over to the bed where they'd been stacking up the rest of their luggage.

"Put me down!" Maddy squealed, pretending to gasp for air when Michael set the suitcase down and she crawled out very dramatically, snuggling up into the pillows of her parent's bed as she watched them continue to pack. "See, Daddy, I would be a great spy. You could just hide me in stuff."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "You want to be a spy?"

"Of course. Just like you, daddy. Stopping the bad people." Maddy said, playing with the zipper on his suitcase.

He could practically feel Fiona glaring at him before he turned around to look at her, standing in the closet doorway. Fiona furiously mouthed "Say something!" to him, but Michael just shrugged, holding his hands and mouthing back "What?"

Fiona walked out of the closet and crossed to her daughter, sitting beside her on the bed. "You can be anything you want to be. You know that, right?"

"Yes." Maddy nodded. "But daddy said spies stop bad people. That's what I want to do. And once I'm a spy, I can go everywhere with you and Daddy."

"We'll only be gone for a week, baby." Fiona said as Maddy snuggled up under her arm. "And then we'll all be together again, okay?"

"Daddy too?" Maddy looked skeptical.

"Daddy too." Fiona said when Michael didn't respond or join them on the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. He was back to packing, when his daughter clearly needed him to engage. She felt a familiar annoyance brimming up inside her, remembering countless times he'd tuned her out when he started to move into job mode. They weren't leaving until the next morning, but once Michael got like this, he might as well be gone already.

That night, after following her mother all over the house and being unusually clingy and whiny, Maddy had fallen asleep between Michael and Fiona in their bed while they had all been watching a movie. Michael had been on the laptop for most of the movie, preparing for the Monaco job.

"Can't you do all of that on the plane?" Fiona asked quietly as she looked over at him. "We have a twelve hour flight tomorrow, Michael."

Michael kept typing. "I really need to finish this."

Fiona reached over, closing his laptop and nearly slamming it down on his fingers before he pulled them away just in time. Michael turned to her, whispering furiously— "Damn it, Fi—"

"Keep your voice down. She's sleeping." Fiona hissed back. They both looked down, seeing Maddy stirring slightly but remaining asleep.

Michael sighed, running a hand over his hair before looking back up to Fi. "What exactly are you pissed off about now?"

"I can't believe you told our daughter to be a spy."

Michael sighed, setting his laptop on his bedside table. "I did not _tell_ her to be a spy—"

"That's what you want for her? You want them to take over her life too?"

"We shouldn't talk about this now."

But Fiona was undeterred. "Because I'll be damned if I have to watch my daughter give up everything for that same organization that's ruined your life, and mine too, a hundred times over—"

"They _saved _your life, Fi! And the only way they'll let you keep it is if I keep working for them." Michael finally just said it.

Fiona blinked with surprise. "No. They let me go in exchange for Sam and Jesse's evidence against Anson."

Michael shook his head, unable to lie to her anymore, needing her to understand why he could never just walk away. "That was only part of the deal, Fi."

"What are you talking about?" Fiona sat up in bed, and the sudden movement woke Maddy up, Maddy stretching and twisting in the sheets between them.

She looked up at her mother and father with sleepy eyes. "Why are you fighting?"

Fiona tore her eyes away from Michael. "We're not fighting, baby. We were just talking."

"You sounded mad."

"It's nothing, sweetheart." Michael assured her. "Time for bed." He went to pick her up to carry her to bed, but Maddy twisted away from him, bursting into tears and clinging to her mother. "NO! I want to sleep here!" She looked up at her father. "Go away! You ruin everything!"

"Don't talk to your father like that." Fiona said sharply.

Maddy just shook her head, burying her head in her mother's t-shirt, her voice muffled when she spoke again. "I don't want you to go, mommy."

Fiona sighed, lifting her daughter into her arms and getting out of bed. Maddy was never like this, but then again, Fiona had never been away from her for longer than a few hours. "I'll be back," she muttered to Michael, walking out of their bedroom.

But she hadn't come back that night. Michael went to check on them around four in the morning, and found that Fiona had fallen asleep with Maddy in her bed. He didn't sleep at all that night, feeling like a stranger in his own home. He just sat up in bed, trying to work, staring at his computer screen but not really comprehending anything. He just kept thinking about Maddy yelling at him to go away and Fiona wearily taking their daughter to bed. Something had to change, that was becoming very clear. But what? He felt like if he changed one thing, it would all fall apart. The fact that he even had a family of his own always made Michael feel like he had gotten away with something, like soon life would catch up with him and take it all away.

Michael rubbed his eyes, closing his computer and leaning his head back against the headboard. He wondered if Fiona would even want to go with him tomorrow after their argument. He wondered what she would think of the bargain of selling his life to the government for hers. He wondered, as he did so often, if they could really make this work as a family.

And he reminded himself of the one thing that always comforted him when he and Fiona had problems—they had definitely survived worse.

_Moscow, Russia_

_2001_

"Tell them what you like, baby." Fiona crouched down over Michael, standing over him on the table, holding him up by the collar of his shirt.

Michael looked up at her, speaking in flawless Russian, just one word—"Pain."

Fiona smiled, looking around at their audience around the table. There was one man in the back, in particular, she wanted to impress. He was their contact, but had told them over the phone that, before he gave them the information they needed, he wanted to make sure they were "his kind of people." Fiona and Michael had very little idea what that meant until they showed up at the specified address and discovered he'd sent them to a hardcore S&M underground Russian sex club.

Luckily, Fiona's new look always made her look like she was going to an hardcore S&M underground Russian sex club, and tonight was no exception—she was wearing some crazy backless dress that looked like it was made out of chain mail and black lace-up combat boots, her jet black hair pulled back and black lipstick on her lips.

"You didn't happen to bring leather pants, did you?" Fiona had looked up at the boring suit Michael was wearing.

"No, sorry."

"Nipple clamps?"

"Fi."

"Just asking." She shrugged her thin shoulders, lighting a cigarette and ringing a rather ominous looking doorbell on a gothic style door outside the club. They waited there together for a moment, Fiona taking a long drag off her cigarette.

Michael looked down at her, trying to fill the awkward silence. "I thought you didn't smoke."

Fiona blew the smoke directly in his face. "Fuck you."

_I guess she's still mad then. _Michael coughed slightly, waving the smoke out of his face. Ever since their first encounter at the park bench, Fiona had followed up her death threat by being oddly polite to him as they prepared for their mission. He should've known that wouldn't last. And Fiona being polite was just too weird. He much preferred her like this anyway.

And now they finally had the chance to prove themselves to their contact, who had approached them and just said in halting English, "I am waiting to be impressed." Fiona hadn't even hesitated, bodily heaving an unsuspecting Michael onto the ominously blood-stained wooden table in the middle of the room, the audience exchanging excited glances, the circle of spectators tightening around the table as Fiona climbed up onto the table, standing over him and picking him up by the collar of his shirt. Michael had caught on at this point, playing the part of submissive oddly well. Fiona seemed oddly comfortable with her dominant role, definitely selling it, looking coldly businesslike as she shoved him back down on the table.

Someone had wheeled over a table of tools at this point, and Michael tried not to look nervous as Fiona ran her hand over a pair of pliers, a cat-of-nine-tails whip, and a serrated knife. She finally selected the pliers, looking around at the crowd, speaking in Russian.

"What do you think? Should I start with his fingernails or his teeth?"

Everyone cheered for fingernails, and Michael looked up at her as Fiona seized his left hand. He gave a small shake of the head, actual fear rising in his chest. Surely she wouldn't really do it. Not for a cover. He felt the pliers clamp down on his fingernail, and suddenly thought maybe this wasn't part of a cover. Maybe this was his punishment. He wouldn't have thought even Fi was this crazy, but she looked pretty damn committed to the idea. Her eyes flicked to his briefly, and he saw her hesitate.

Suddenly she set the pliers aside, the crowd groaning with disappointment. But she didn't seem to hear them, her hands closing around his throat as she leaned over Michael. "Fuck it." She practically growled. "I don't need any fucking tools."

And she proceeded to kick the living shit out of him, the crowd cheering again at each blow, Michael knowing that even if he hadn't been undercover, he would have just laid there and taken it. This was what he deserved. And there even was the smallest, secret part of him that did like it. She was like an animal—scratching, clawing, kicking, punching—all her hurt and fury finally expressed, and soon Michael could barely even feel it, all the pain starting to blur together as he just looked up at her through swollen eyes. It became so vicious that even the bloodthirsty crowd fell silent, watching the attack as though it was a piece of performance art. Suddenly, he heard a choked sound escape her lips and Michael realized she was crying, and vaguely he realized tears were slipping down his bruised and bloody cheeks as well. And then it was over. Her muscles were trembling with exhaustion, her knuckles cracked and bloody, when she finally sat back, still straddling him, the crowd stunned into silence.

Michael looked up at her, his entire face throbbing with pain, tasting blood in his mouth. He turned his head and spit the blood and one of his back teeth out on the floor, gingerly pushing himself up until he and Fiona were face-to-face. "Thank you," he said, his hand clenching the back of her neck as he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. The crowd finally erupted into applause, pleased with the show as Fiona kissed him back, and when they finally broke apart, their contact had stepped forward, looking pleased. "Perhaps I should show you two a place to get cleaned up." He nodded his head towards a back room, and Michael and Fiona knew they were in. Fiona climbed off of him, Michael following her off the table, the faces of the crowd swimming in front of his eyes as he realized he should probably be hospitalized after the beating he had just taken. But he just followed her, focusing very hard on walking straight and hoping he hadn't suffered any permanent brain damage.

"I think the swelling's going down." Fiona examined his black eye clinically after she removed the ice compress at their hotel room later that night.

"Really?" Michael asked skeptically.

"No." She grinned. Her dark make-up had mostly worn off at this point, and she looked much more like her old self.

"Don't laugh." Michael glared. "You nearly killed me."

She put the compress back on his eye, staring at him evenly. Something about kicking the shit out of him had really calmed her down. She had seemed almost friendly after their meeting, helping him stumble back to the hotel and now even tending to him like a concerned girlfriend. A concerned girlfriend who had just beaten him to a bloody pulp. Michael would have been confused and disoriented even if he hadn't been seeing double of everything at the moment.

"You deserved worse," she said quietly, Michael wincing as she gently traced the cut where she'd split the skin over his cheekbone.

He reached up, putting his hand over hers. "I'm really sorry, Fi."

She pulled her hand away, removing the compress and putting it back down on the washcloth on the bedside table, refusing to look at him when she asked the next question. "Was I part of the job? Did they tell you to fuck me?"

"No. No, not at all. As far as anyone at the government knows, I never saw you again after that first job we did together. I was supposed to walk away a long time ago. But I kept putting it off."

"Why?"

"Because I fell in love with you, Fi."

"Bullshit." She shook her head. "You would have told me the truth."

"I was trying to protect you. I pissed someone off, someone higher up in the IRA, and they said he was coming to kill me and anybody with me."

Fiona's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Don't ever do that again."

"What?"

"Try to protect me. I know all about the man who wanted you dead. I put two bullets in his chest. You should have known, Michael. You should have known I could take care of myself, that I would never let anyone hurt you…" Fiona's voice caught in her throat.

"Except for you. It's okay if you hurt me." Michael smiled. "You're right, Fi. I should have known. I should have taken you with me."

She wiped impatiently at her cheeks. "We're still not even close to even, Michael."

"Your knuckles are bleeding." Michael caught her hands in his, examining her hurried tape job. He peeled the tape back, examining the cuts and bruises. Michael cleaned them off with the washcloth, Fiona watching him with a tense, cautious expression. He expertly taped them back up, turning her hands over in his and kissing both of her palms, slowly and deliberately.

Fiona's eyes slid shut, miserably shaking her head. "Michael. Don't."

He didn't listen, his hand sliding to her back as he pulled her closer and started to kiss her neck, right above her collarbone, where she liked. He reached up, untying the strings of her dress at the back of her neck. "I miss you, Fi. All the time." He mumbled the words against her neck, and Fiona started unbuttoning his shirt.

"You miss fucking me, you mean." She slithered out of her dress, throwing it aside as she lay back on the bed and pulled Michael on top of her. "It's fine. I miss fucking you too. No one ever made me come like that. Ever." She kissed him, starting to undo his pants, smiling against his mouth. "Look at you, in your boring business suit. No one else has any idea, do they? No one else knows the Michael who nearly went to federal prison to steal a security tape of us fucking in a bank vault. You still jerk off to it?"

"Fi. Stop. Stop it." Michael took her face in his hands. "It wasn't about the sex."

Fiona raised her eyebrows, and Michael went on quickly. "I mean…it wasn't just about the sex. Not for me. And I don't think it really was for you either."

She squirmed slightly under his gaze, looking suddenly like she wanted to run for the door. If it wasn't just about that, she had to face what it had been about. And the fact that it had meant something, to both of them. Something they had to face. Something from which they obviously couldn't escape. They'd both run halfway around the world, and still ended up in each other's arms.

Fiona finally sighed heavily, looking up at him. "I was going to hate you for the rest of my life."

Michael smiled down at her, his face still massively swollen and bruised. Fiona laughed, playfully pushing his face away. "Ugh. I can't even look at you, you're such a bloody mess." They wrestled on the bed for a moment, ending up kissing again, Fiona on top of him this time as Michael slid off her underwear. He pulled back slightly, looking down at her underwear still in his hand.

"What are these, latex?"

"Don't even act like that doesn't make you hard." She pinned him down against the bed, kissing him and feeling the cut on his bottom lip pressed against hers as he kissed her back, Fiona hurriedly unzipping his pants. When he finally entered her and Fiona started to move her hips against him, they both breathed out with the strangest feeling of relief. Every moment they'd been apart felt like they'd just been biding time until this. Somehow they ended up tangled in the sheets on the floor at the end, Michael staring up at the ceiling afterwards, clutching his shoulder.

"Ow."

"What's wrong?" Fiona looked over at him.

"I think something's broken."

"Oh, don't be such a baby." She grinned. "Love hurts."

"Right." Michael looked down at her. "Then I love you too, Fi."

She smiled. "You think you'll be able to walk tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Our new cover may be the recently paralyzed man and his kindly caretaker."

Fiona rolled her eyes. "Hot." She climbed to her feet, holding out her hand. "Come on. Get up."

Michael sighed, tentatively taking her hand and letting her haul him to his feet. His shoulder really did hurt like hell and the injuries to his face were still throbbing, now even more so, but he managed. He didn't think he could have done it for anything less than the sight of Fiona looking like a total bad-ass, naked and sweaty and gorgeous, but that had definitely been motivation enough.

_Washington National Airport_

_2016_

"Starbucks." Michael held out her cup of coffee, Fiona looking up from where she had been sitting with their luggage at the gate. "And magazines." He held up a bag from the newsstand.

Fiona smiled slightly, accepting her airport essentials. "You know me well."

Michael sat down next to her. "They should start boarding first class soon."

She just nodded, sipping her coffee. Michael watched her, thinking his wife looked remarkably pretty for having slept only a few hours in her daughter's cramped little bed. She was a gray cashmere sweater and jeans, her long dark hair wavy and still slightly damp from her shower. They had gotten ready in a hurry that morning, Sam, his wife, and his stepkids showing up right on time to stay with Maddy. Once Sam was there and she had other kids to play with, Maddy seemed distracted enough to not throw a fit about her mother leaving, and she had hugged Michael good-bye, last night's grouchiness mostly forgotten. But last night still hung very heavy between Michael and Fiona, and she had been cold and distant all morning.

When their flight started boarding, Michael and Fiona stood together towards the back of the first class line, Fiona still obstinately staring off across the airport. Michael sighed, fiddling with his wedding ring. "Look, Fi, I should haven't just dropped all of that on you last night—"

"No. You shouldn't have. You should have told me four years ago." She said in an angry whisper. "But you didn't, because you knew I would never let you agree to something that basically just made you their prisoner instead of me." Fiona took a deep breath, rubbing her forehead wearily. "Forget it. Not here."

But Michael refused to drop it. "I didn't have a choice."

"You always say that!" Fiona snapped, her voice louder than she intended. Her outburst got them many snobby looks down the noses of the other first class denizens. But Michael didn't seem to notice or care. "What would you have done, Fi? If you'd been in my position, what would you have done differently?" 

Fiona finally looked up at him, breathing out, her green eyes softening after a moment. "Nothing. I would have done the same thing. For you."

Michael put his arm around her, kissing her temple. "We'll talk about it later, okay?"

"Okay." They walked forward, presenting their tickets and boarding the plane, still getting some furtive looks from other passengers who were clearly dreading a flight with a couple who was already fighting before the flight had even taken off.

But they sat down together very peacefully, Fiona starting to flip through her fashion magazines as they waited for take-off. Michael reached over, resting his hand on her leg.

"Hey, Fi?"

"Yes, Michael?" She looked over at him curiously.

"We're finally going to the French Riviera." He squeezed her knee. "See, I listen."

"Well, I was never very subtle about this request."

"You're never very subtle about any request." He laughed.

"Because I know the man I married." She sat back against her seat. "I can't believe I'm actually out of the house. It's been four years. Four. Years."

"Don't worry. It'll all come back to you, Fi. Like riding a bike." Michael offered her a piece of gum so her ears wouldn't pop during take-off. "You'll be blowing things up in no time."

"Shh." Fiona laughed, folding the piece of gum into her mouth. "That's probably not the best thing to say on a plane, Michael."

"Right." Michael looked over at her. "And if they had searched your bag, they would have found…"

"Nothing more insidious than designer shoes." Fiona smiled mischievously. "Of course."

"Of course." Michael shook his head with a laugh, a temporary peace restored as the 'unhappy' couple everyone feared held hands during take off.

A/N- Until chapter five! I'm so happy Burn Notice is back- I feel so inspired. I hope everyone's enjoying the story—reviews=love!


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